


So the World Spun On

by leiareyjyn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Period Scarlet Vision, period, scarlet vision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiareyjyn/pseuds/leiareyjyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many mysterious forces in the world, ones that drive us apart and ones that bring us together. For two souls, that of Wanda Maximoff and the Vision, no matter what forces tried to drive them apart throughout the ages, one day - one day, they would be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - 848 BC

**Author's Note:**

> For gcmoras.tumblr.com for the Scarlet Vision exchange. I hope you all like it!

See the great marble of the world below, swirling in its iridescent colours of blue, white and green. For its inhabitants the world is no more than the ground beneath their feet, that sustainer of life.

But the world has more plans than anyone can ever understand.

In a small green isle there exists a court long hallowed throughout history. Behold the court of the great King Arthur and all its noble knights: Lancelot, Gawaine, Perceval… yet those that hold the sword are not always responsible for changing the course of time.

Let us look closely at this small forest clearing, and the two figures that stand within.

“Your destruction is complete,” says the old man, known to many as Merlin.

“It was no more than was deserved,” the lady replies, her raven hair blowing in the wind, “All order must be balanced. Chaos and order are both needed for the world to turn. Arthur forgot that.”

“There is a difference between destruction and chaos.” says Merlin sadly.

The two look at each, a million lifetimes worth of emotions and feelings passing unspoken.

“Will you go far from here?” asks the woman, her eyes deep and brown.

“Yes, Morgan.” said Merlin, “I suppose I must find myself a new apprentice.”

“Then I doubt we will meet again.” she says.

She walks forward and places one kiss, one gentle kiss, on the old man’s lips before fading to nothingness.

Merlin waits there a little longer, feeling the smells of the old world disappear around him. Everything he once knew has now gone, all those he held dear. In resigned silence he draws his cloak about him and walks slowly until he reaches the main road.

As the sun continues to shine he walks on, and he lightly sleeps in the night until first light, when he resumes his travels. Many a young man or woman has been robbed on this route, caught unawares by a group of vagabonds. Yet Merlin remains untouched. Perhaps it is the deep knowledge that can be felt upon approaching him, perhaps it is the sense of him having many lifetimes left to live… he is left alone.

When he finally reaches the town he books a room for himself at the inn before wandering about the market. It is Saturday and the town is alive with music and commerce. Street jugglers and fire breathers provide spectacles for an excited crowd; flower stalls sell a multitude of blooms, all of which Merlin can recite by name. He walks past each stall inspecting the goods for something to do. It eventually dawns on him that he should buy some food to eat, but he is not hungry; he has not been hungry for a very long time.

As he walks past a fish stall he hears the shop owner chide a young boy sitting behind him.

“What are ya doin’, readin’ and readin’ like that? I keep tellin’ ya, man the stall, watch the fish don’ go all rotten. What do I catch ya doin’ when I go and take a piss? Ya’ readin’ again! Why I chose ya…”

Merlin watches curiously out of the corner of his eye. The young boy is calm, with piercing blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair.

“I am sorry, Master.” he says quietly, more well spoken than Merlin expected.

The sweaty shopkeeper sniffs, rubbing his wet nose with a greasy sleeve. “Ya get back to work right now, d’ya hear?”

Merlin buys himself some mackerel for the sake of it and makes his way back to the inn.

The following Monday he tells himself he will find himself something useful to do with his time, but he finds himself listless. Once he was full of life and purpose; but now all of that has been taken away from him.

He returns again to the fish stall, where he catches the boy sneaking glances at some scrolls in between manning a fish stall. As the days pass the boy becomes better at evading capture, and Merlin finds he becomes delighted at watching how the boy becomes more and more subtle.

On the seventh day he approaches the stall when its owner is gone on another toilet break.

“Hello.” he says kindly to the boy.

The sharp blue eyes look back up at him. The young face smiles, but does not say a word.

“What is your name?” he asks.

The boy does not reply.

“How about this,” Merlin tries, “If I buy some fish, will you tell me your name?”

He hands over a fillet of trout and the boy wraps it before exchanging it for some coins.

“Victarion.” says the boy, as Merlin takes his purchase.

Merlin inclines his head, “Hello Victarion, my name is Merlin.”

As he looks closer at the boy he realises with a jolt that Victarion’s feet are bound to a ring by iron chains.

Every day Merlin makes an effort to return to the stall, and for two weeks he finds himself full of new purpose… whatever it is. But as time goes past he realises he has become restless. He needs to move on, to travel more. Perhaps he will make a cabin for himself somewhere in the moors - or perhaps a beautiful tower. Either way, he knows he has to leave.

On his last day he finds himself approaching the stall owner. Before the man can speak Merlin holds up five shiny gold coins.

“I would like to buy that young boy there, if you please.”

“Wot?” asks the man crudely, his eyes fixed on the money.

“That young lad there, for this money.” Merlin repeated.

The shopkeeper thought hard for a moment: he appreciated another pair of hands, no matter how useless he thought them… but at the same time his mind was speaking the language of currency. It was more money than he had ever seen in his life, and more money that he was ever likely to make.He turned to Victarion, who thus far had sat watching the scene with passive yet comprehending eyes.

So it was that the next day Merlin left the town with Victarion in tow.

“The road will be long,” says Merlin.

“I will not be a hindrance.” Victarion says, “Especially if you wish me to be your apprentice.”

This admission does take Merlin by surprise, who had suspected the depth of the boy’s intelligence but still did not expect such perceptiveness. Years pass with Victorian working under Merlin. Together the two build a beautiful stone tower in the ruins of Camelot and by the time the young boy has grown into a young man Merlin knows that in terms of knowledge and power Victarion will soon be able to surpass him in all things.

On the first morning of spring Victarion is out collecting herbs and plants, something he remembers doing when he was not a slave and was a million miles away from this new place he calls home. He places some dittany into his pocket when he sees a figure running towards him.

His first thought is that she is beautiful. She has brown hair streaming behind her and a slightly matted red cloak covering her frame. Her face is a picture of distress.

Their eyes meet and whatever she is about to say is lost to the moment between them. But all moments must end.

“You serve Master Merlin, do you not?” she asks, face flushed, voice breathless.

He nods, eyes still disbelieving.

“Please, you must come and get him. My mother… my mother is dying and we were coming to visit him for his advice but… but she collapsed on the way here. She is just back there, b… beyond the trees. Please, will you help me?”

By the time Victarion has picked up the young woman’s mother and carried her to Merlin’s tower the old lady’s breaths are becoming fainter and fainter. Merlin turns on his apprentice’s arrival and his eyes cloud as Victarion places her gently on the table.

“Oh Morgan,” he says, as he rushes forward and takes her hand, “Look at us two, bastions of an old world now lost. Why could it not have been better between us?”

Morgan Le Fay attempts to say something, but she cannot manage a word, so weak is she. She desperately searches for the young woman’s hand.

Victarion watches as the young lady grasps the hand of her mother, her face full of grief and strength.

“W - wan… wan - d - daughter.” Morgan manages, before falling into silence for the last time.

The two men stand back in silence and grief as the young woman cries, holding the hand of her mother. As the evening sets in she eventually stands up, her tears spent.

“Thank you, Merlin.” she says earnestly, nodding in respect.

He nods, “You are welcome.” the old man says, “You may stay as long as you wish. It is the least I can do for a daughter of Morgan Le Fay.”

The young woman says nothing but before she turns her eyes meet Victarion’s and they hold. When dawn breaks Victarion rises and realises that the young woman is gone from her sleeping place near the fire. He makes his way outside and sees her lone figure looking out towards the horizon.

She does not turn at his approach.

“You will not stay?” he asks, his voice quiet and gentle.

“I cannot.” she says, turning to face him, and moves to gently take his hands.

He looks at her and understands. He does not want to plead for her, and he does not need to.

They look at one another, a multitude of thoughts and emotions connecting them without a single word spoken. She moves forward quietly and places a kiss on his forehead. It is soft, perfect, and Victarion knows he will never forget it as long as he lives.

“Wanda.” she whispers into his ear, “My name is Wanda.”

As he looks up he sees her dissolve into nothing, fading away from him like her mother did to his master all those years ago.

So it was that Victarion the Wise, apprentice of Merlin, and Wanda le Fay, daughter of the famed Morgan, met and parted for the first and last time.

But the world spun on, and in time all things come back around.


	2. Chapter 2 - 1501

Artists understand what it is to feel in a manner you can’t describe, in a way that transcends words or actions but flows through your entire being.

Lady Wanda Maximoff sat perfectly still as the painter painted her portrait. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she never enjoyed sessions like this. Yes, she was grateful that he father and brother loved her so much they wanted her memory immortalised on canvas but… it was a tiresome business.

Were she back home in her native Sokovia she might have said something, but her family had followed her father to Florence at the turn of the century for a business trip, and now she was having her portrait painted by the talented Leonardo Da Vinci. Wanda was astounded enough with the whole engineering of such an arrangement that she bore her stiff neck and aching back with the true grace of an aristocratic lady.

There was something to be said for the quiet attentiveness of the artist, who said little when he painted and gave her little direction. Before, she had hated when other artists had been chatty, giving her suggestions or encouraging her to move this way and that as they told her about their favourite colour. She wasn’t sure if this silence was worse.

It was with resignation that Wanda realised she would need to come back every other day for several weeks, months even. She allowed herself to wince a little: her brother may be the notoriously active one, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed sitting in one place for hours at a time.

“Please do not move,” the great Leonardo said sharply.

At mid-afternoon their first session was finished. The first of many sessions. Wanda left the artist’s studio and joined her maidservant who had accompanied her.

She gave Wanda a worried glance, “I forgot to pick up the ribbons you wanted for the dinner, mistress.” she said.

“That’s alright,” Wanda replied kindly, “You can go and get it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s a Sunday, mistress.”

Wanda sighed. She hated the hustle and bustle of noisy crowds; it felt like she didn’t have any time at all to think. She thought for a moment.

“How far is the stall?” she asked.

“Just around the corner, mistress - I’m so sorry I -“

Wanda shook her head kindly. “It’s alright,” she said, “It’s not late, I can wait here while you fetch it. I will be quite alright, don’t worry.”

At least she would have time to relax and think to herself in the meantime.

Wanda manoeuvred herself into Leonardo’s drawing room, which was not as cluttered with papers and knick-knacks as his studio. There was a simple table in the middle and Wanda sat on a chair, letting her fingers run over the wood. His house smelled alive: not of aristocratic sumptuousness like her home but alive with creation and passion and l-

“Hello, can I help you?”

Wanda turned to face a young man, perhaps the same age or a few years older than herself. He was dressed in a plain shirt that was stained with workshop dirt and simple trousers. His hair looked almost brown and Wanda suspected that it might actually be blonde if he washed out the dirt. His eyes, though! His eyes were the clearest blue she had ever seen.

“Hello,” she replied, “Please don’t worry - I’m waiting for my maidservant to return.”

The young man swiftly bowed, which was made all the more difficult by the scrolls and papers in his hands.

“Lady Maximoff.” he said, straightening up, “My master told me you would be coming today - I apologise for not recognising you sooner.”

She waved a hand, “It’s quite alright.”

“Please allow me to introduce myself, I am Vittorio Sapienti, apprentice to Master Da Vinci. Of course should you ever need assistance, I would be glad to help you.”

“Thank you.” she said, letting herself smile.

He nodded and turned on his heel, and she heard him enter his master’s study.

Vittorio, she thought. What a lovely name. Vittorio. She could hear the low rumbling discussions of master and student as she sat and waited. Her maidservant should be back soon. Wanda hoped she did not return too quickly.

With a jolt Wanda consciously recognised the thought that had just passed her mind and she flushed to no one in particular. Outside in the corridor the studio door opened and shut again, and she could hear footsteps approach.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as Vittorio entered.

“Would you like me to bring you some food while you wait, my lady?” he asked.

“No thank you,” she said, pausing for a moment before saying, “Though you could tell me how anyone at all managed to earn the admiration and apprenticeship of the great Leonardo.”

She smiled again at Vittorio’s abashed face when she asked him the question.

“I don’t think it’s quite so much a matter of admiration as survival.” he said with a laugh, “I grew up in an orphanage - I don’t know my parentage. But I always worked hard and I taught myself to read and write. When I was twelve I was running errands for the Merchants’ Guild and I soon saved up enough money to be able to buy an apprenticeship there. I ran into Master Da Vinci by luck when I was helping negotiate a transaction between my then master and himself. He offered me a position the same day.”

Wanda was startled.

“Just like that?” she asked.

“Yes,” Vittorio replied, “When I ask him why he always says it was because he -“

“Mistress, I’ve returned!” her maidservant waltzed into the room, red-faced but looking reasonably triumphant.

Wanda stood up from her chair and took another look at Vittorio. They shared a smile, genuine and true, before Wanda left to return home.

As time passed she found that she began to look forward to her portrait sittings. On her second visit she had bumped into Vittorio again before leaving and had confessed to him the boredom she felt every time she had to sit for hours.

After that visit he had come to sit in the studio intermittently while his master painted, telling her things he had done in the week, describing the motion of his master’s brush or the great scientific things he had begun to learn or discover. She had cultivated a great admiration for the young man. From nothing he had used all his intelligence, cleverness and wit to place himself at the forefront of creativity and discovery.

Here she was by comparison, sitting. Simply sitting whilst around her amazing things were happening.

Vittorio had eventually asked his master to allow Wanda to have a break or two in the sessions so that she could have some respite. The two of them would sit together, some bread and cheese always on the table as they talked.

“I want to write poetry.” Wanda confessed to him one day.

“Then write,” Vittorio said, “Just put pen to paper.”

“You misunderstand,” she said, “I want to be known for my writing. My brother can be known for his heroism on the battlefield, my father for his work with metal weapons and war machines… I do not want to be forgotten. I see so much in people Vittorio, their hopes, dreams, desires.

Take my maidservant, Angelina. She is quiet, unassuming - but when I ask her to help with my outfits or dresses, her eyes light up. She hints to me what she thinks will look beautiful, or make suggestions for my hair. It is the little things.”

Vittorio watched her, “You are a lady of means.” he said, “I’m sure you could find a way.”

She knotted her eyebrows. “It’s not that simple.” she said.

“We all have within us the courage to make our own decisions.”

“We do not, Vittorio.”

Wanda returned home more downcast that usual, and realised why sometime before getting into bed.

Before her family’s trip to Florence her father had informed her of a betrothal he had made between her and the son of another noble family. It was to be finally put in place upon their return to Sokovia and Wanda had been considering what she was to do about it.

She believed she had no choice; it was her place to marry this man, to do as her father told her and to be both a dutiful and honourable sister. Now Vittorio’s words rolled over in her mind, tumbling perpetually like rocks in a stream.

After around three months the painting sessions came to an end, and so too did her family’s time in Florence. In a break during her second last session Wanda told Vittorio she would be leaving for Sokovia, never to return.

He placed a hand on hers, the first time he had done so. It was warm to the touch, and though neither side ever admitted it to the other, it felt perfect. He opened his mouth to speak - once, twice. The words did not come and he withdrew his hand awkwardly as his master came back in.

On the day of her final visit Wanda did not see Vittorio at all, and she sat in her spot in Leonardo’s studio feeling the most acute sense of loss she had ever felt since the death of her mother. It did not make sense; she had barely known the man for more than a few months and yet… yet she felt like she had known him before, like there was something simply right about the two of them in tandem, as two puzzle pieces who are the right fit for only one another.

As her session came to an end she stood up, thanked the master, and brushed down her skirts. The great Da Vinci left her for the last time. The studio door creaked open.

“I wanted to get you something for your departure.” Vittorio said quietly.

Wanda looked up at him, “There is no need.”

“It’s just as well,” he said, walking towards her, “Anything I could have bought would have paled in comparison to the fine things you own.”

“It’s not that,” she said, “I have valued the time we have spent together. You do not need to get me anything when I have that.”

He nodded and made to turn around, when suddenly he turned briskly on his heel, walked towards her and kissed her on the lips. It was a single, long kiss, and after both all and none of the time in the world had passed them by Vittorio pulled back and looked at her, their eyes meeting, their faces closer than they had ever been or would ever be again.

“You are exquisite.” he said.

Vittorio Sapienti was lost in the annals of history, one of many figures in an Italian world ever flourishing and ever changing. Who knows what happened to that bright and promising young man, a forgotten gemstone of the Italian Renaissance? Yet Lady Wanda Maximoff did not forget him, or his words. For upon her return to Sokovia she decided she did have a choice after all, and chose to enter the Abbey of Strata Ilyana, where she became one of the first and most admired Sokovian female writers of the era.

And so the world spun on, for in time all things come back around.

 


	3. Chapter 3 - 1798

Sir James Shade was a man with more luck than he deserved. A slightly self-obsessed, vain man, he had managed to garner some luck investing what little he had in overseas trade and by the time he was thirty, had amassed a small fortune and a knighthood for himself. He was many things, but he was not a kind man.

At the age of thirty-five he married the local village beauty and she bore him a son, Victor, before dying in childbirth. The two could not have been more dissimilar. For every ounce of callousness and shallow feeling his father possessed Victor was in turn kind, humble and generous.

By the age of sixty Sir James Shade was ill with a myriad of problems including gout and severe dental decay. As a result he was bedridden and the gossips of high society became rather excited: Victor Shade would surely soon come into his inheritance.

For the truth was that Victor was as handsome and intelligent as he was kind and generous, but the loss of a mother at such a young age had left him isolated as a child, abandoned to a father who was obsessed with the fear that his son might sully the family name. When his father finally died Victor could speak seven languages, was able to play three instruments and had been the true manager of his family’s estate for over half a decade.

The morning after his father’s death his friend Anthony came to see him. He had all the swagger Victor felt he himself should not possess and as a pair the two cut quite an image.

“Big empty place you’ve got here.” said Anthony, draping himself over a chaise longue, “What’ll you do with it?”

“Keep it as it is, of course.” said Victor, “There is no need to change anything.”

“Come on, man.” Anthony said, rolling his eyes, “Your old fart of a father is gone, you’re finally your own man - you can do what you want!”

Victor gently placed down the book he was reading and smiled at his friend.

“This is what I want to do, Anthony. There’s no need to cause a revolution overnight. Anything that will happen will… happen.”

“See,” said Anthony, getting back up again and faux-straightening his jacket, “This is why you need me around. All this space for just you and a couple of servants?! It’s like you don’t know who you are. Let’s hold a ball.”

Victor sighed. He liked small gatherings, tea with friends, talking by the fireplace, a ride through the country … and balls were truly a lot of work.

“You know that’s not my kind of thing, Tony.”

“Well that’s why I’m going to plan it all. Do not fret my friend - Victor Shade is going to throw the most spectacular ball in recent memory.”

The rest of the day passed as normal and when Victor came down the next morning to eat breakfast part of him hoped Anthony had forgotten all about it. The doorbell rang just as he was about to take a sip of tea.

His footman entered the dining room.

“Reverend Eric Maximoff to see you, sir.” he announced.

Victor knew the Reverend would come to visit and thinking about it made him anxious. His father was meant to care for his parish and help the local clergy as much as possible, but he ended up being neglectful, rarely attending church and preventing Victor from attempting any reconciliation between the two parties. In fact, Victor could not remember stepping inside a church at any point in the past ten years. It made him a little glad his father was now gone.

In walked a middle aged man with a stern face and dark brown hair. Victor instantly stood up and made to shake the man’s hand, which was returned.

“My deepest condolences, Mr Shade.” the Reverend said smoothly, “I am sorry that things between your father and I had not been better before his passing.”

“That was his choice, Reverend.” Victor said, “And I would like to resume my family’s contribution to your services, if you consent. I had meant to visit you this afternoon about it, in fact.”

The Reverend considered this slowly, “Thank you,” he said, “But I am actually here on another matter. I am afraid I have taken up a missionary job going to the Far East, and my family will come with me. Times have been hard, and it is time for us to move on. We will be departing in a few weeks.”

Victor sighed inside. His father never understood the damage he could do just by steamrolling everyone until he got what he wanted.

The two men parted that morning on friendly terms and for the next twenty-four hours Victor turned the situation over and over in his mind until he decided to visit the Reverend the next afternoon. Perhaps luck would strike and he could persuade the man to stay.

He rapped on the front door of the small house. There was no answer. He rapped smartly once more and the door finally swung open.

Victor momentarily forgot what it was that he had to say. The young lady in front of him had her brown hair tied up, whisps of it falling forward as she brushed her hands on her apron. She may not have been decked in finery, but that did not make her any less beautiful.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

“I was hoping to see the Reverend?” he replied.

“I’m afraid my father is out at the moment with my brother.” she said, “You are welcome to sit and wait for him, if you wish.”

Victor followed her into a small parlour where he sat alone until the door creaked open again and the young woman entered with some tea and biscuits on a tray. He noticed the two cups and the removal of her apron.

“Victor Shade, at your service ma’am.” he said as she poured.

She placed down the teapot and smiled, “Wanda Maximoff. I’d curtesy but I’m already seated.” Her eyes sparkled.

He laughed, “You know, I found your family name rather unique, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Wanda shook her head as she took a sip of her tea, “Not at all, my father’s quite proud of it…”

When he looked back on that afternoon Victor could not remember having spent a more pleasant afternoon with anyone in a long time. They talked and talked until he found himself telling her about his childhood, whilst she made him laugh with stories about her boisterous twin brother.

There were ladies in town, for sure, but Wanda held more behind her eyes than a vacant interest in family and flowers. She could recite Latin and Greek verse, could counter his opinions on human nature - he found out that she even contributed to her father’s sermons on occasion. In short, by the time the Reverend returned home Victor was nothing short of determined to make sure the Reverend and his family stayed in town.

When the day of the ball came Victor found to his surprise that he was actually looking forward to it, and acknowledged the fact that it was because he had invited the Maximoff family to attend. His ballroom was decked with beautiful flowers and Anthony had hired the best string quartet this side of the Thames to play. Victor wandered the rooms as the event began, choosing not to dance after he had led the first one as was custom. The night drew on and he noticed the family still had not arrived. He could feel disappointment pooling in his stomach as he walked away once more from the front doors.

“Mr Shade?” Victor turned.

The three Maximoffs were standing there in the doorway as the coach that had brought them returned to the night. Victor walked forward and greeted them, offering his arm to Wanda.

He spent the rest of the evening in her company. After a lifetime of being told what to do by his father he was finally free, free to do what he wanted, and to love whom he chose. He chuckled to himself. Anthony was right again.

The two of them stood on the balcony, looking out at the night.

“Do you think the stars are the same in China?” she asked.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Victor said, “I hope you’ll never have to find out.”

She turned to look at him sadly, “We leave tomorrow.”

He let the words sink in. He knew this could happen, but he had held onto hope nonetheless.

“Must you all go?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She sighed in reply and turned back to the sky, though her eyes were not looking.

“Miss Maximoff,” he said, his heart in his throat, “I hoped to one day ask for your hand in marriage.”

She looked back at him quickly, surprise on her face, “We have known each other for less than a fortnight, Mr Shade. Besides, my circumstances are not the most appropriate.”

Damn his father, damn his father to hell.

“I know how I feel.” he said, “I have thought about it and it makes perfect sense to me. I hoped … I hoped you might be able to stay.”

He wanted to say so much more, how he felt that when he was with her he had known her all his life, how he felt more comfortable with her than he had ever done with anyone, and how even now all he could think about was how he could make her happy and protect her from the evil in the world. He wanted to say how he was already in love with her.

But the words were lost to him.

No more on the matter was spoken between them as they danced the rest of the evening together before they parted.

The Maximoffs left the next morning, gone before Victor could visit one last time to say goodbye; gone before he could, in a last ditch attempt, tell the Reverend what he hoped could happen between Wanda and himself.

He managed to maintain contact with her via letters whilst she was on the continent, and the last time he heard from her she was travelling with her family through Budapest. A year and a half later Anthony hold him that Wanda Maximoff and her brother had died of cholera whilst travelling through Central Asia.

Victor Shade never married.

But the world spun on, and in time all things come back around.


	4. Chapter 4 - 1913

The bright lights of Mayfair were beautiful and dazzling, and Wanda Maximoff enjoyed browsing through the windows of the new Selfridge’s Department store, easily the flashiest attraction on Oxford Street. 

She wasn’t one for fancy jewellery and clothes, but since her family had fled from the increasingly dangerous areas of Eastern Europe she had found herself with more time on her hands than she was used to. This morning she was idly browsing the cosmetics floor. She didn’t need to buy anything, but the pretty objects were quite a delight. 

She continued to browse until she had inspected every item far too throughly, and she turned to take the elevator upwards when she collided with a… person, sending her bag and gloves flying out of her hands.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, immediately turning to pick up her belongings. Another pair of hands got there first, scooping up her bag. 

When Wanda managed to stand properly she found herself face to face with a tall young man in a sharp suit and slicked back blonde hair. His eyes were kind as he held out her purse to her.

“I apologise profusely, Miss,” he said quickly, “I hope you aren’t hurt in any way.”

She shook her head, “Thank you, Mr-?”

“Shade, Victor.”

“Thank you Mr Shade, but I’m quite alright, thank you for returning my purse.”

She was about to turn to walk away when a clear American voice rang above their heads.

“Mr Shade!” the pair of them turned to the source of the sound; an imposing, authoritative middle aged man was striding towards them, holding a document in his hands. 

“Mr Selfridge,” said Victor politely, “Is everything alright?”

The American held out the papers, “You forgot this, Mr Shade. Tell Mr Stark I really will think about his proposition, but the store must come first.”

“Of course.” Victor replied, taking the papers and tucking them under his arm.

Mr Selfridge turned to face Wanda, who didn’t expect to have to meet his eye at all. He looked at her carefully before a smile began to spread on his face.

“And you must be Miss Maximoff!” he said, bending down to kiss her hand politely, “I was talking to your father only last week about investment opportunities. I’m delighted to finally meet the daughter he talks so much about.”

Wanda smiled, “I am in awe of your store, Mr Selfridge.”

“Harry, please!” he said, about to turn away before one of her gloves caught his eye, “Did you notice your left glove is ripped? If you take it to Mrs Harwitt in the glove section she’ll be sure to help you mend it or find a new pair.”

She watched Harry go and was about to look down at her glove before Victor interjected.

“God - I’m, I’m so sorry.” he said, “Please, allow me to purchase you a new pair.”

Wanda waved a hand: she liked these gloves, they had been a gift from her grandmother. She would find a way herself to sort it out, somehow; at least she finally had something she could work on.

“There’s no need.” she said, “It was just an accident.”

“Please Miss Maximoff,” said Victor, “I insist.”

“You insist?” Wanda replied, allowing herself a slight smirk, “Well, alright then.”

“The thing of it is, I have a meeting with my employer in under half an hour. What’s more, it’s on the other side of the Thames. Would you … would you allow me to take you for lunch at the Palm Court tomorrow? I’ll have a new pair of gloves for you then, I promise.”

Wanda wheeled through the calendar in her head. It was not as if she had anything else to do… and she had been meaning to try the restaurant at the top of the store for a while.

“Lunch tomorrow it is,” she said, tucking her gloves in her bag, “I’ll be expecting to see the height of your judgement in ladies’ fashion, Mr Shade.”

Wanda laughed and bade her farewell to Mr Shade before departing the store. She did not know why, but she felt like for the first time in a long time, she had finally made a new friend.

The next morning Wanda found herself looking forward to her lunchtime engagement and she made her way to the Palm Court with high hopes. She found Mr Shade already sitting at a table waiting for her. There was a red box on the table and he was absent-mindedly fiddling with his cufflinks, switching from one to the other over and over again. 

She watched for a moment until she noticed him trying to release his collar a little, and then she remembered she actually had to meet him there.

If Wanda could hear his thoughts she would have softened, she would have heard how he was scared that he might have ordered the wrong tea, that she’d hate the gloves he had bought her or that his stupid tie was making him look too much like a penguin. She would have heard him thinking how it was pure luck that she had agreed to have lunch with him after their disastrous first meeting and how getting this meeting right had become the most important thing he had done all month. 

It’s just as well she didn’t know any of those things, for it made their encounter all the sweeter.

His chair scraped a little as he stood up on her approach and she saw him wince. It made her smile.

“Miss Maximoff,” he said, “I’m glad to see you again.”

“And I you, I’m rather looking forward to this lunch.”

She saw him nod, “Harry talks about this place very enthusiastically.”

“Well he would, it is his after all.”

They exchanged a smile as a waited brought them some tea and finger sandwiches. 

As they ate they talked casually at first, about Victor’s role within the famous Stark Industries and how that had him travelling all over the world. After time Wanda told him about her home in Sokovia, how it had been so hard to leave and her worries for its future. 

By the time the food and tea was consumed they were both talking about British politics. As far as Wanda could tell the polite and unassuming Victor Shade had done well for himself, rising up from ordinary birth to becoming one of the power players within the Stark Industries board. He was not showy or overambitious like his employer, however. Instead the smaller things occupied his mind. Whilst Wanda talked of the problems surrounding the possible outbreak of world war Victor always touched on the small players - families, young people, workers - that would not have been noticed otherwise. He cared what happened to them. Not just in terms of figures and stats, but whether or not they were actually happy. 

When the plates got cleared away he passed the small box to her.

“Please,” he said, fiddling absentmindedly with his cufflinks again, “I hope you like them.”

She opened the box and allowed herself a gasp of surprise. The gloves within were a fairly close copy to the ones from yesterday.

“It’s … well, it’s not exactly the same.” said Victor, when Wanda did not say anything, “But I went to look at some glove shops early this morning until I found ones as close to yours as possible.”

“How did you even remember?” Wanda asked, astounded. The most male attention ever given to anything she had worn had been Pietro once asking her if her umbrella matched her shoes, and that had just been one time. 

“I - I notice things. Little details.” said Victor.

Wanda smiled, “I’m not so good with that,” she confessed, “but I remember things when it helps me help people. I used to help in soup kitchens back in Sokovia.”

They talked until the afternoon rolled into the evening and Victor asked if she wanted to go with him to a Jazz club that had newly opened, Colleano’s. Wanda found herself enjoying Mr Shade’s company so much that she agreed, provided that she was able to return home at an acceptable hour. 

As the weeks passed Wanda found herself spending more and more time with Mr Shade until she consciously made the decision to have lunch with him no more than three times a week at most so that the less discreet members of society didn’t gossip and spread false rumour.

At first he had seemed to her to be quiet, occasionally nervous in a manner that manifested itself most often physically, be it a jolt of a cup or the slip of a spoon. But as lunch turned into visits to the fair and even calls to her family (usually accompanied by the ever delighted Mr Selfridge), she began to see more and more of the kindness and depth Victor possessed.

Visits to the Jazz Club turned into light kisses in alleyways and confessions of love in the cool Hyde Park evening. As spring rolled into summer and summer rolled into autumn any observer would be able to see that the pair were besotted with one another. Wanda Maximoff, the charismatic and witty daughter of a well-to-do Sokovia emigré and Victor Shade, companion and close friend of the wealthy Stark family. Together they made quite a pair. 

When war came the following year Victor confessed to Wanda that he wanted to make a stand as a conscientious objector, but felt that his position within Stark Industries prevented him from doing so. After many a tormented afternoon, in early August he was shipped to the front, making a promise to Wanda and her family that he would ask for her hand in marriage as soon as he returned.

They had comfort in their letters to one another - he confessed to her how nervous he had been at their first lunch. She confessed how her father had always been rather taken with him and had been aloof with him on purpose to see how he would take it. 

After the Second Battle of Ypres in early 1915 Victor Shade was declared ‘Missing in Action’. With the loss of the loyal go-between, Stark Industries and Harry Selfridge never made a commercial deal. A few years later at the age of twenty-eight, Wanda Maximoff caught smallpox from her niece and died. She was remembered as an ever-present and loving aunt.

Yet the world spun on, for in time all things come back around.


	5. Chapter 5 - 1944

Wanda Maximoff looked herself once over in the mirror before tying her red cardigan about her shoulders. She tightened her ponytail once more, and then wandered downstairs and pulled open the door, “I’m off to school now!” she called out, before slamming it shut.

Wanda wondered down the aisle of the school bus until she saw the familiar red hair just visible above the seats.

“Hey Nat,” she said, sliding into the seat next to her, “You all right?”

Nat tossed her the newest copy of Life magazine, one with Judy Garland on the cover. 

“She’s probably the only thing me and my foster family can agree on.” said Nat nonchalantly, “Doesn’t she just look great?”

Wanda nodded, “Dad doesn’t let me get these sort of magazines.”

“Boo-hoo for him.” Nat drawled, “Too bad you’ve got me to borrow it from.”

The yellow bus pulled up outside the high school and the girls got off, making their way inside hip to hip.

“Dang it.” said Wanda, looking through her notebook, “I forgot we had to pick partners for the biology project.”

“The one you have until the end of the year?” 

Wanda nodded, “Yeah, that one.”

“You shoulda snapped up Pepper when you had the chance.” Nat responded.

“Who’d she end up with?”

“Paired up with Maria.”

“Well they’ll raise the overall mark boundary…” Wanda said, “Like things couldn’t get harder.”

“Ah, you’ll ace it,” said Nat, shoving her things in her locker, “You always do, even when you panic.”

Wanda wandered into the classroom, her skirts swaying around her. 

“Hey Wanda.” said Jane, as Wanda wandered past, “How was the break?”

“Alright,” she said, standing for moment next to her friend’s desk, “You go anywhere nice?”

“Dad took me to a road trip to New Mexico - he wanted to take me to see the place. Ended up just sitting in my aunt’s house.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, wasn’t -“

“Take a seat, class!” her teacher strode into the room and Wanda slipped into a chair, “So thanks for all of you who submitted your pairs for the project… for the rest of your, I’ve done the liberty of pairing you up.”

“As you know, we need to get this started if you want this to count for your final grade so … if you’re sorted already get separated off and get started, for the rest of you…”

She began to read the sets of names, and Wanda listened for hers with trepidation - “Wanda Maximoff and Victor Shade…”

Wanda’s stomach curled. Victor was the new, handsome transfer student, the one that all the girls had been giggling over. After a disaster when they had first met, which ended in Wanda trailing toilet paper stuck from her shoe, she had avoided him. 

“Hello.” 

She turned to stare at the blonde-haired blue-eyed kid in front of her.

“Hi,” she said, moving aside a seat so he could take a proper place next to her, “I’m Wanda.”

He smiled and shuffled his stool awkwardly. Their hands brushed.

“Sorry.” They said at the same time, before laughing awkwardly.

“So…” she began, “I have some ideas. How thought we could investigate the nature of flowers changing color and consuming different liquids.”

Victor pulled out a neat notebook from smart satchel and placed it on the table, “Funny you should say that, I thought we could do something on the effect of different liquids on vegetation.”

They looked at one another and smiled again. There was an audible silence.

“How - how are you finding it here?” Wanda asked, “I’m sorry I never got to talk to you before.”

“Apart from that time with the toilet roll.” he laughed shortly, before looking apologetic.

Wanda felt her face redden, “Apart from that, yes.”

“It’s alright, yes.” he said, “I’m still getting used to American Football, though.”

“Gotta say you’ve done well with baseball, though.”

That was true; he had managed to become quite the star baseball player since his arrival, and had made the first team in a couple of weeks. He had a mean swing.

“It’s alright. I don’t think I’ve seen you at a match.”

“Baseball’s not my thing. I do AmDram with friends, stuff like that. No sports.”

The teacher walked past each pair, placing a short checklist of project requirements in front of them. Wanda and Victor reached for the paper at the same time, their fingers touching. Both of them froze.

“You can - “ they began, before laughing again. Wanda let go first, but Victor pushed the paper towards her.

“Here.”

“No, it’s - “

“I’ve seen how organised you are, I’m sure it’s in safer hands with you.”

“I’m not tidy, it’s just easier if I keep stuff neat at school.”

He shrugged, “It’s ok, I trust you with it.”

Wanda blushed again despite herself, and flushed even more when she realised Victor had noticed. 

They spent the rest of the hour filling out the project forms and planning together. Every so often there would be a laugh or a glance, that just seemed a little too personal, laced with something more than two friends talking. 

What was worse was that Wanda could feel it too - she could sense the tension and it was almost worse than if he was just a bit of a tool.

When the hour was up Wanda quickly got out of her set, mumbled “I’ll see you later.” and left before turning to look at Victor’s response.

“Bye … Wanda.” he said quietly.

“So. *Victor Shade*.” said Natasha, chuckling to herself, “*The* Victor Shade. You lucky duck. Does he give you cups of tea? Does he call you mi’lady and pull out your chair? Does he - Ow!”

Wanda hit her friend with a book, “He’s nice.”

“*He’s nice?*” You spend a whole hour with the enigmatic Victor Shade and the most you can say is that *he’s nice*?”

She shrugged, “We didn’t talk much. Just let it go, okay?”

“Alright, alright.” said Natasha. “See you on the bleachers after school?”

“Sure.”

Wanda wandered round to the field in the evening, where she saw Nat already lounging on the metal structure.

“Spanish alright?” Nat called.

“Dull but fine.” Wanda replied, sliding next to her friend on the seat, “Dull but fine.”

“Hey Romanoff!” Wanda turned to see Tony Stark - bragging, swaggering greaser Tony Stark coming towards them with Clint Barton and … Victor Shade in tow.

“Natasha…” began Wanda, but her friend was already skipping down to meet the newcomers.

“This is bit where I can finally get to ride your motorbike, yeah?” Natasha said to the boys.

“Anything you want, Romanoff.” said Barton, handing her his bikers’ jacket.

“I’d leave your British friend here,” said Natasha, taking a side glance at Wanda, “They’ve got a project to sort out.”

Tony wolf whistled until Victor nudged him and whispered something in his ear. Tony shrugged, and wandered off with Nat and Clint.

“I’m sorry about them.” said Victor, taking a seat a step below her.

“I’m sorry I ran out so quickly earlier, I -“ Wanda said quickly.

“Don’t mention it.”

When she thought back to it she was grateful that Natasha had set up the meeting between them. Outside of the classroom it gave them a chance to talk openly, allowing their conversations to meander. 

As the weeks rolled on the two began to become more and more comfortable with each other, and Wanda found herself looking forward to their science classes.

“Bingo.” he said, as they looked at their latest results.

“That’s pretty perfect.” Wanda said, and they turned to smile at one another.

“Go to prom with me?” he asked quickly.

Wanda stared.

The smile on his face faltered a little, “I’m sorry if you already have another -“

“No, I will. I mean, Yes. I mean… yes, I will go to prom with you.”

Wanda and Victor both got As for their projects and by the end of it she was disappointed that their partnership had ended. Even her father had been impressed by her good grade and the young British man that was not only her bright young science partner but was also her prom date.

As the hours whiled away during prom, and midnight approached, Victor and Wanda sat out on the bleachers, just the two of them.

“ - And the teacher’s face when we told her that her hypothesis that been wrong!” Wanda bent over double, clutching her stomach whilst laughing.

Victor was laughing hard along with her, “We made quite a team.” 

They looked at each other and their eyes met. Wanda moved forward so that their noses were almost touching. Her eyelids fluttered closed. 

Nothing happened.

“I’m returning to England, Wanda.”

She opened her eyes. Their faces were still close together. She had forgotten that he was going away.

Then Wanda remembered that this was high school. She was used to being quiet, keeping mum whilst the Natashas and Peppers of the world stole hearts whilst keeping their hair perfectly curled. Then she remembered that LIFE magazine cover, the one with Judy Garland on the front, the film icon that was so loved because she was herself, and knew what she wanted.

Wanda leaned forward and kissed him. 

Three days later Victor returned to England and for some time they wrote letters to one another until Victor moved away to university and as many do, they lost contact. But this time fate worked hard, and it so happened that both Victor Shade and Wanda Maximoff sat six rows from each other on the Eastern Airlines B727 flight on the 6th of June 1976 from New Orleans. The one that was meant to land safely at New York.

But the world spun on, and this time the world was pissed.


	6. Chapter 6 - Present Day

Wanda Maximoff curled up in her room after the Battle of Sokovia. She cried silently, no more tears emanating from her eyes, but the pain was still raw.

There was an emptiness there. An emptiness in her head which meant that Pietro’s death couldn’t be avoided, even if she wanted to. Since she had gained her powers she had always used a bit of her energy to keep a tab on him. Her darling brother, her other half. She had always made sure that he was there. Even if they were apart, she would always know he was there. Now he wasn’t.

Her mouth gaped open in a silent scream as time ticked on.

The Vision sat on a chair in the New Avengers facility common area, looking at the clock. Technically he didn’t need to look at it to know the time; the internal clock in his head was perfect and exact to a T, but he was worried.

The first ever training session on the New Avengers team had been decent. Captain Rogers had introduced everyone, made it clear they were all on the same side, and had them doing basic drills. Sam and Rhodey had instantly taken to each other with their backgrounds in the military and Rhodey had been fairly friendly to Vision given the latter’s past connections with Tony, but everyone, even Natasha, had kept somewhat of a wide berth around Wanda.

It had been three days since then. She had not come out for meals, rarely talked unless asked about something. She hadn’t left the compound, even to go outside on a run. Vision had seen the Captain’s concerned frown, but had been informed by Natasha that Wanda had been exercising inside. It didn’t make things better, but at least it meant there wasn’t a scene.

It was five minutes to midnight. Vision had looked up a lot about grief, pain and death, but it seemed to be that there was no definitive protocol on what to do in such a situation. Vision knew he wanted to help her. Ever since she had been the first face he had seen out of the cradle, ever since she had been the first presence he had felt in his mind, he knew he wanted to protect her. How long was grief meant to be, could he help take it away? Many a time he had hovered in front of her door. Should he bring a cup of tea? Perhaps some music would help?

In moments like this he almost felt frustrated. He had all the information of the world at his fingertips… but experience left him lacking. He watched the clock hands move until midnight arrived.

Wanda had stopped crying about Pietro. She stayed curled up and had begun to lament all the pain she had even felt. Not just the short life of her brother but the pain of losing her family, her lost childhood and even her shame at having been taking in by Ultron. She was grateful for the Captain giving her a place here but her sleep had been fragmented with her thoughts ever roving.

She rolled off her bed, her bare feet touching the ground. Wanda had a look at the mirror. Her eyes were sunken, her hair unbrushed. Wanda was tired but she didn’t want to go back to bed. She could feel the door there, present as if it was alive. She looked at the small clock on her bedside. It was past midnight, and if she was being honest with herself she was really quite hungry.

When Wanda padded along to the kitchen the sitting room was silent and empty. She opened the fridge where she saw a few packets of sandwiches in a tupperware box. It didn’t have a name on it and she reached out her hand to take it.

“I believe that is Colonel Rhodes’ food, Miss Maximoff.”

Wanda gasped. Standing serenely behind the kitchen counter was the Vision. His cape was no longer on but he worked the same familiar green body suit that he had worn since moments after his birth.

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” he said, moving forward.

“I - I was just hungry.” said Wanda, feeling pathetic.

“I would look in the top cupboard to your left. There are some waffles wrapped up which you can eat. Sam made a few too many yesterday morning.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to the cupboard. As she brought down the packet she heard a light chink of glassware on the marble countertop.

Vision played a glass of milk down on the table.

“For you.” he said, “I’ve heard that with sweet carbohydrates it can be quite relaxing.”

“Thank you.” she said, before taking a waffle and holding it out to the Vision, “Would you like one?”

He took it gratefully, “Thank you, Miss Maximoff.”

“Do you need to eat?” she asked, suddenly realising that his biological makeup was different than, well, everybody’s.

“No.” he said, “But I am still able to enjoy the taste and experience of eating. I have never had a waffle before.”

They sat together on the couch, the space of a man between them. Wanda folded her legs underneath her and ate.

“How have you been?” he asked her. His voice was soft and soothing, laced with genuine concern as opposed to casual pity.

“Okay.” she said shortly, “I’ve been better.”

“Please tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you. I feel - I feel like a glass of milk is not enough.”

Wanda actually laughed, before her face turned sombre, “No… No-one has passed me a glass of milk since Pietro. It helped, Vision.”

He looked at her and a deep smile spread across his face and into his eyes.

“I don’t want your pity.” she said. It wasn’t angry and harsh, just a simple statement, “I must find a way to manage.”

The Vision’s fingers flickered, as if he wanted to hold her hand but thought better of it.

“You don’t need to do it alone.”

Wanda finished the bite of waffle she was eating and looked at him, “I can feel his absence in my mind.” she pulled her scarf around her, “It’s a hole in my head. People say they feel loss but here it’s a hole. What once was there is now gone. I don’t know how to deal with - “

“Don’t think of it as loss.” he said, “It is a change - a hard change, but we are your friends, here to help you.”

Wanda shook her head, “I barely know any of you. I can’t have said more than five words to Colonel Rhodes since arriving here; that hardly qualifies as friends.”

“Then at the very least, please consider me your friend. Not just as a teammate, but as a true friend.”

“You saved me that day.”

“Yes, because I care about your safety.”

They sat in silence for a while, and Wanda moved closer towards him.

“What do you remember?” she asked, after a moment.

“What do you mean, Miss Maximoff?”

“I mean, what do you remember before you were born? And it’s Wanda, please.”

“I remember seeing you there, Wanda.” he said, quietly thinking about how pretty her name was, “I remember your voice in my head, trying to understand who I was, trying to see my dreams.”

“Your dreams were dark then.”

“Yes. Not any more. Thank you for helping me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

This time he did take her hand. It was soft and gentle, no more synthetic than her own.

Wanda spoke, “I will always be your friend too, Vision.”

They sat there, smiling at one another. As the night continued she told him about her childhood in Sokovia, both the good and the bad, remembering quiet christmases in shelters with her brother, or using their freedom to run from rooftop to rooftop in the early morning air. He told her about Captain Rogers’ efforts to help him acclimatise with this world. He read out the lists of things Steve had told him to experience and Wanda pointed out which options she thought were silly.

“Oh -“ she said, as Victor read out the latest option on his list, “I’ve never tried scallops before.”

“Perhaps…” said the Vision tentatively, “Perhaps we could try some scallops together?”

Wanda sighed, “I still don’t think I can go outside. I’m just finding my way here… there’s so much for me to here to deal with.”

“You forget that Tony Stark bankrolls this whole facility. I will order some in for us, if you do not mind?”

Wanda smiled back at him.

Captain Rogers always rose early, sometime between four and five in the morning. He put on a simple grey shirt and a pair of jeans. He slipped into his boots and wandered down the stairs to the common room.

Steve grabbed the corn-flake box on the top of the fridge, poured some of the cereal into a bowl and drizzled some milk on top of it. He was about to place a spoonful into his mouth when he heard a rustling from the couch. His hands flew to his pocket and he was annoyed when he realised he didn’t have a pistol at his hip.

Cautiously he moved forward to the couch, his eyes widening a little in surprise. Wanda and the Vision were curled up on the couch together. Her head rested on his chest, his arms were curled around her. She breathed out and shifted. Steve was unsure if he should wake her, and was about to take a step towards the couch when the Vision’s head gently turned a fraction towards him.

“She’s dreaming.” the Vision whispered, “Let her dream some more.”

So the world spun on, content at last.


End file.
